


my date with the president's (grand)daughter

by lackadaisical



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, But its Republic City, F/M, Modern Politics, Political Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackadaisical/pseuds/lackadaisical
Summary: Kai is the newest intern on the senior staff of Aang's administration: just a tiny cog in the president's office as they confront the daily headaches of running Republic City. And, yeah, Kai shouldn't have clicked through the introduction powerpoint; perhaps he wouldn't have mistaken the president's granddaughter as a fellow lowly intern. Maybe he wouldn't have humiliated himself but then, Kai's very good at humiliating himselfA modern fusion with West Wing vibes, or the fantasy au where politicians are actually decent people.
Relationships: Jinora/Kai (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this new strange au! Some disclaimers before we dive in: I've based modern Republic City's government off of the United States' democratic system simply because I know it best so I feel I could realistically create political drama within the understanding of a three-branch government system. I'm going to try my best to infuse what aspects of Republic City politics we do know in, while also maintaining the governing integrity of the other nations. Please let me know if there are any components you spot that need correcting! 
> 
> As ever, my deepest thanks to @cinnamoncookies for going on another fic adventure with me as my beta. She tirelessly makes my writing the best it can be and also entertains all of my weird au concepts. My deepest thanks to her!

Professor Azula Sozin’s infamously opaque sense of humor is mostly to blame for the debacle.

On a list of potential institutions, think-tanks, senatorial offices, and NGOs to apply to for internships—internships required for all senior political science majors suffering through the drudgery of her Modern Politics seminar and therefore a requirement to graduate from the University of Republic City—Professor Sozin stuck in ‘the Bamboo House’ at the very bottom as her idea of a ‘joke.’ And a very hilarious at that, since the sort of students who got internships in the Bamboo House were also the sort of students who didn’t need something as silly as a suggestion list. Yet, either Kai is very stupid or very ballsy (the answer varies depending on who you ask), because the joke doesn’t register with him. He applies, but not even his unflagging self-confidence could have assured him he’d get an interview, never mind the _internship._ It all seems so strange, so fictitious, so positively unheard of. But then, Kai makes it a rule to be as unconventional as possible.

But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

It’s a series of compounding factors leading Zhu Li—assistant deputy chief of staff and head of hiring for all positions not requiring Congressional approval, a job about as sexy as it sounds (that is to say: not sexy at all)—to invite Kai in for an interview. Firstly, she’s getting stress-migraines from planning her upcoming nuptials to mad genius-turned-inventor, Varrick. Second, the pipes burst in the basement, where all the intern cubicles are (or _were)_ and a torrent of interns quit. The reason cited: ‘paperwork and dignity floating away on a river of rancid turds.’ Thirdly, and most importantly, she wasn’t wearing her glasses when she read the name on Kai’s application and thought it read ‘Khai,’ the promising international student from Kyoshi Island who worked in Senator Tenzin Hava’s office last fall.

Yet, when Kai turned up for the interview and proved to neither be from Kyoshi or all-that-promising, Zhu Li still hired him, anyway (see: rancid turds).

Cue: Kai strutting around the URC campus for twenty-four hours, the envy of all PoliSci majors everywhere, until he woke up in a cold sweat two nights before his first day on the job with the realization his ‘professional’ wardrobe consisted of one (1) wrinkly pair of chinos, two inches too short and two (2) button-down shirts, which none of the five (5) ties he’s received as Midwinters gifts have a prayer of matching. So, cue: Kai launching into a hyper-panic that carries him through the next thirty-hours and deposits him squarely in front of a senior staff office labeled with a little gold plaque: ‘Suki Nuwang, Director of Communications.’

Kai glances down at the email pulled up on his phone, confirming what he already knows to be true. He’s memorized every period, comma splice, and split infinitive in the email. He could rattle off its contents while standing on his head. He _knows_ this is where he’s to report in— _who_ he’s reporting to—but his knees are literally knocking, his palms are slick and the idea of knocking on the door seems like it’ll shatter this weird fever-dream he’s lived in for the past three days. That he’ll knock only for Ms. Nuwang to give him a once-over, sniff him out as too plebeian, and send him packing for some rich kid from the Lower South side.

Yet, before Kai can convince himself to run away, fate decides for him. Or rather, a petite older woman with a smartly cropped bob swings the door in and decides for him. Her blue eyes sweep over him once, as if doing a scan to download his entire existence into her mind, before she cocks an eyebrow. “Kai?” she asks.

Kai _doesn’t_ squeak. He just…temporarily chokes on air. He manages to spit out: “Ma’am?”

“Don’t ma’am me; save it for the First Lady,” the woman tuts back. Kai assumes this is Suki Nuwang, considering she bears a striking resemblance to the person Kai’s stalked—and read obsessively about—on the internet since… _well_ , since Aang Hava was elected to office three and a half years ago. Kai wouldn’t say he’s a political fanboy (because, _seriously?_ Admitting to following senators and representatives as they drag each other in Congress like it’s Pro-Bending is kind of…sad). Yet, he certainly _is_ a Suki Nuwang fanboy; she’s the mouthpiece of the Bamboo House, no official statement nor state dinner nor hospital visit doesn’t have her fingerprints. She made the already loveable Aang Hava into a sensation, into the United Republic’s grandfather: a man the people could trust.

Kai can only _aspire_ to her levels of linguistic finesse.

Of course, none of his aspiration will be realized if he keeps blinking at her like a stunned cat-gator. “Err, um,” he manages. _Get it together, Kai,_ he thinks. He clears his throat. “Sorry, ma-- _I mean_ Ms. Nuwang.”

Her face softens marginally. Some of the wrinkles around her mouth ease, melting years from her. “Just Suki is fine, Kai, especially if we’re going to be working together. I don’t need anyone reminding me that I’m getting old and crotchety.” Kai dares to return her smile, but he could have kept his petrified look, for all Suki notices. She nudges past him, clearly expecting him to follow. “We’ve got a hell of a lot of shit we’re shoveling today, so I need your brain on and your eyes open. We have a delegation of junior representatives coming to talk to the President over lunch, and I need you to confirm they don’t have any allergies or food restrictions. We absolutely can _not_ have a repeat of the Shellfish Incident. Here’s the menu.”

Kai trots to keep up, barely catching a mock-up lunch menu featuring eleven varieties of nigiri sushi rolls, a spring vegetable salad, and watercress soup. “Huh, sushi,” Kai observes, mostly because he’s now imagining President Aang stuffing sushi in his face like a University student teetering on the edge of a psychotic break.

“I know; I was really pulling for chicken yakitori, but apparently the President is really into sushi.” Suki says this as if the President liking sushi is the equivalent of the President suddenly being super into assassination attempts. They round the corner, leaving the private senior staffer offices behind and entering into the main hub: cubicles papered with President Hava campaign posters, fiscal reports, military spending analyses, social reform law proposals, and memos pinned on top of memos. Between the computer set ups and paper, barely any of the fabric cubicle walls are visible.

Suki expertly dodges a runaway coffee car as she continues, “Next, I need you to schedule an appointment with Jet over at _The Republic City Times._ I want him here sometime after 3. _”_

“The editor-in-chief?” Kai clarifies a little wheezily: Suki sidestepping the coffee cart left him open to be smacked in the stomach. He barely recovers and catches up in time to receive a stack of paper-clipped memos. She plucked it off a junior staffer’s desk with a terse nod and a word of thanks.

“Yeah, him,” Suki spares, before jabbing a finger at the memos. “And type those up before the luncheon ends; the VP needs to see them. But make sure you make it read nicely, okay?” She swings suddenly around. Peering down at him, she asks, “You _are_ a good writer, right?”

Knowing her expression demanded one—and only one—expected answer, Kai scrambles to nod. “Yes ma’am—err, Suki. I got great feedback in my Freshman Writing Seminar.”

It’s a boldfaced lie—his writing professor literally wrote ‘this paper wouldn’t even be good as a fire starter’ at the top of his final essay—and for one heart-stopping, breath-shuddering second, Kai’s _certain_ Suki will find him out. Her eyes narrow, squinting. One second, another. Then, she wheels around and charges on, practically tossing a manila folder over her shoulder as she instructs: “File that in my office, and teach yourself my system while you’re at it. There should be some pointers in the orientation powerpoint.”

Breathing out a shaky breath as loudly as he dared (which is to say: breathing soundlessly), Kai knows he narrowly escaped with his lie intact and feels it’d be counteractive to his career longevity to admit to clicking through the powerpoint. Once he saw the first slide explained President Hava’s foreign policy (because, _seriously,_ is this amateur hour?), he blindly clicked through it. Had he known such valuable survival tips as Ms. Suki Nuwang’s filing system was outlined on the powerpoint, he might have read it.

( _Eh,_ who’s he kidding? He probably would’ve clicked through faster because he clearly has no self-preservation instincts.)

Not waiting for Kai to respond, though, Suki pauses at a wood-paneled door set into a wood-paneled wall. Had he not seen her hand on the doorknob, Kai would have missed the entrance entirely. Fixing him with a small grin, she says, “You’re in luck, Kai. Most interns don’t see the Glass Room until a month into their internships.” Then, her face hardens, her eyebrows furrowing, and her eyes become twin stones. “And you aren’t to even _breathe_ in there unless I tell you to, got it?”

Kai’s tempted to ask her for permission to breathe _now:_ air has rushed entirely from his lungs and the papers in his hands are in danger of spilling onto the plush blue carpet underfoot. _The Glass Room,_ his brain echoes into an infinite chant, a spinning chorus floods his senses and leaves him gaping. He’s watched an innumerable amount of addresses from the Glass Room, the President’s formal office space, and not just of President Aang Hava. Ever since Kai could remember, he’d watch the weekly Sunday evening addresses on the tiny television in his grandmother’s kitchen. Presidents Yangchen, Kuruk, Kyoshi, and Roku: a parade of politicians broadcast into his home so regularly, they’re ‘practically family,’ his grandmother had fondly joked.

She had been the one to teach him the importance of politics, of having an opinion, and planted the beginnings of Kai’s lifelong ambition: becoming a member of a president’s senior staff. Someone like Suki Nuwang, or Sokka Imiq, or Lin Beifong.

Unaware of Kai’s star-struck stupor, Suki swings the door open and then it’s there, _it’s real_. Kai takes a reverent first step into the Glass Room.

True to its moniker, the office features three walls worth of glass windows, kept in pristine, sparkling condition by a small army of staff. The view of the gardens, all green and lush despite the late winter chill, gives the impression of the office plunked into the middle of a jungle, the vault ceiling and its golden chandelier more of an afterthought. Inside the office itself, the furniture is a study in creams and beiges and the occasional splash of oceanic blue; the wicker furniture, soft pillows, and wide-leafed ceiling fans are recent touches by President Hava’s First Lady, Senator Katara Imiq-Hava.

Seated at the wide oak desk—a desk so large, former President Kyoshi had joked its ‘large enough to park a Satomobile’—peering out into the gardens as if searching for some hidden answer, sits President Hava. Kai’s feet shuffle to a stop entirely of their own volition, he’s too busy staring to follow Suki as she strides further in. With his face turned in profile while his Vice President, Zuko Sozin, espouses, President Hava appears even more dignified in person. Kai always thought he was the most presidential of the recent United Republic commanders-in-chief. Seeing him in person, however, confirms it: his gray eyes perceive every minute detail and macro-issue; a nobleness defines his nose; his mouth seems poised to spout wisdom at any second.

“—they’re swearing they’ll block you in the House, Aang,” Vice-President Sozin is saying with annoyed gestation. “It’s a toss-up if the Senate will back you. Honestly, it seems like it depends on their mood that day on which way they’ll vote.”

 _Weird to think that he’s Professor Sozin’s older brother,_ Kai thinks, though the last student to actually _ask_ Dr. Azula Sozin if she’s spoken with her brother recently had won an ‘all expenses-paid vacation to Ember Island’ (URC slang translating to: ‘no one’s seen the student since.’)

However, the thought jars him enough to yank his brain out of its stupor. Glancing around, he spots a young woman lurking next to a bookcase. Pressed in business attire, her bobbed hair held back by clips and her skirt-suit screaming yuppie, her head bends of an electronic tablet as she rapidly scribbles down notes. _A fellow intern!_ Kai thinks, relief washing over him. He tries to subtly scuttle to her, deciding closing ranks with a fellow bottom-feeder would be better than trying to hover at Suki’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers to tablet-girl.

She turns a flashing, amused smile to him. It wrinkles her nose, making it all rounded and button-like, and _damn,_ Kai hadn’t been ready to be hit with _that smile_. Stars seem to be captured in her gray eyes—twinkling in some private joke he desperately wants to understand—and she smiles with every muscle of her face. It’s as though she finds the world, or maybe just Kai, so novel and new, she can’t _help_ but smile. Brushing a hand across her forehead, flicking aside loose strands of hair, she replies, “Hey, yourself. Let me guess: you’re new here?”

Kai shrugs, mindful to match her quiet volume, “Was it that obvious?”

“And there’s nothing you can do to sway them? Aren’t you supposed to be the leader of the Senate?” Suki snaps at the Vice President.

The girl’s eyes cut between the Vice President and Suki before rounding back to land on Kai. Kai’s skin prickles with a strange warmth, his chest puffing, as if she took inventory of the people in the room and decided _he’s_ the most interesting (it’s wishful thinking, but hey, let the boy live in his delusions). She offers a sympathetic shrug. “Not _super_ obvious. I’ve just never seen you before.”

“Well, today’s my first day. I’m Ms. Nuwang’s new intern and assistant.” He gestures at the stack of papers in his hands as if proof of his assistant-ness.

“Ah, I’m surprised you don’t have more papers.” The girl bumps her shoulder to his and is she _teasing_ him? Unthinkable. “Must be a slow day for her.”

“I guess. Um, I’m Kai, by the way.” He extracts one of his hands, sticking it out. It’s probably the lamest introduction he’s ever given to a cute girl—and, let’s be honest, this girl is far cuter than any person Kai has tried to chat-up. Though he’s not a big believer in ‘leagues’ (he’s all about manifesting his future, see: applying for internship), even _he_ knows better than to think a girl like her doesn’t have a boyfriend. He absolutely refuses to fight anyone’s boyfriend. 

She smiles her star-smile again, taking his hand, her fingers soft and delicate around his, and she begins: “Good to meet you, Kai. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I’m—”

“What my point is,” the Vice President bursts, his face vaguely pink and Suki wearing a self-satisfied smirk, apparently counting it as a win to wind up Zuko Sozin, “Is that we might have to cut a deal or promise things we really would rather not. It’d be smart for us to take account on what we’re willing to lose and be prepared to negotiate when they come to the table.”

“And what makes us think they’ll be the ones to initiate negotiations?” Suki asks.

Kai wants to ask the same thing himself: the opposition in Congress is infamously vicious against President Hava’s administration, especially the Equalist House Speaker, Amon, and his lackeys voted-in during the midterm elections. They’d done their damnest to block every legislation that has the President’s backing with a maddeningly high success rate. It had completely stagnated the social reforms the President rolled out at the beginning of his term.

Now, Aang swivels away from the gardens and back toward his feuding Vice President and Director of Communications. They both throw dagger-sharp glares at each other, and he smiles as though this is a perfectly comical situation. “Let’s not be so combative, Suki,” he begins mildly, his trademark grin lurking just at the corner of his lips. His sense of humor had won hearts on the campaign trail, and Kai’s relieved to see it wasn’t a propaganda ploy. The President continues: “Zuko is quite correct in assuming the Equalists will want to broker a deal in exchange for the new Justice seat.”

Kai swallows back an ‘aah’ of comprehension, finally getting the whole context of the argument: the recently vacated Supreme Court Justice seat. If Aang could fill it with someone who supported him, it’d be a lasting legacy for not only his presidency but also his policies. Of course, the Equalists wouldn’t let him have it without a fight.

A brush against Kai’s side and the girl whispers, “They’ve been at this debate for three days.”

“What are they so hung up about?” Kai dares to whisper back.

The President continues, “But I think the fact of that matter is, Speaker Amon knows he has the upper-hand in this deal, and he’ll ask for something we simply can’t concede. Whether it’s healthcare spending, or infrastructure, or income tax in some far-flung part of the Republic, he’ll add something on and then we’ll be trapped. The Supreme Court is too important to make deals over.”

“ _Aaand,_ there it is: that’s the problem,” the girl replies. “The President is annoyingly noble at the most inconvenient of times.”

Kai turns to face her, blinking and questions piling up in his mind, but he catches the brief flash of her star-smile again before she’s sliding away. She melts through one of those doors-in-wall-that-could-be-more-wall doors, leaving behind a quiet, “See you later, Kai.”

* * *

“Welcome to your home-away-from-home,” announces Korra, the Sworn Service bodyguard who Suki shooed Kai at a few minutes ago with the plea to show Kai to his intern cubicle. In the walk from the senior staffer hallway to the ‘internship offices’—which looks like it began life as a supply closet—Kai heard about how Korra’s the youngest member of the Sworn Service in forty years. From her arm muscles, bulging even though her suit jacket, Kai could see why.

(And, _no,_ before you ask, Kai doesn’t feel emasculated by the fact that Korra could choke him out in a second. In fact, if his fellow intern, the girl with the star-smile, didn’t still dance across his thoughts, he might even find Korra’s ability to murder him kind of hot.)

“You’re lucky,” Korra adds, leaning against the doorjamb as Kai sidles his way into an open cubicle. It’s one of three in the closet (err, intern office), each desk with only about two feet between the workspace and the cinderblock wall. It’s fittingly depressing for interns. “The interns used to be downstairs, until the pipes burst last week.”

“Really? Did everything get waterlogged?” Kai asks, beginning to shovel through his stack of papers. After the argument with the Vice President, Suki had worked herself up into a state and assigned Kai five more tasks. Apparently, her form of stress-relief is stressing _him_ out.

Korra snorts. “More like covered in poop. The pipe that burst was the sewage line.”

Kai wrinkles his nose, staring around at his ancient computer and plastic desk as if it might show evidence of being drowned in excrement. Korra laughs at his face, assuring, “Don’t worry. They got all-new furniture for the interns. Although, when they say ‘new,’ they might just mean ‘new to you.’” She waves a hand at the computer. “Anyway, I’ll let you get settled. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Korra,” Kai tosses to her before a thought occurs to him. “Wait, Korra?” Doubling back in the doorway, she crooks an eyebrow at him. He continues, “Is there another intern I’m sharing this room with? Like, a girl?” He desperately hopes she doesn’t notice how his voice trembles on ‘a girl,’ like he’s some middle-school kid with an ickle schoolboy crush.

Mercifully, Korra doesn’t notice. Humming, she shakes her head. “Nope, not that I can think of. Pretty much everyone quit after the Great Turd incident. You’re the only intern right now.”

“Oh,” Kai says, not able to keep from deflating. “Okay. Thanks, anyway.”

“Sure thing,” Korra replies, leaving Kai to the arduous process of booting up the computer and organizing his tasks in time-sensitive order.

* * *

A knock proceeds her into the room. “Are you busy?”

Kai jerks back from squinting at the handwriting on a memo, trying to decide if a letter was an ‘r’ or an ‘n’, and shoves his reading glasses to the top of his head to blink owlishly at the person hovering in his doorway. A blush immediately stains his cheeks. “Oh, um, hi,” he croaks, snatching off his glasses and shoving them willy-nilly into a desk drawer.

The girl with the star-smile grins wider, capturing whole constellations. Kai kind of wants to die.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” she asks.

Kai’s voice cracks over: “Of course not!” He clears his throat and tries again. “Sorry, just really focused on reading.”

“Oh, well, I can leave you to it,” the girl offers. “I was going to see if you wanted to come to today’s briefing. It’s starting soon.”

"Uh,” Kai mutters, glancing down at his pile of work. He’d done everything time-sensitive first—typing up the memos, double checking food allergies, getting yelled at by _The Republic City Times_ that Editor Jet _isn’t_ some trained pony who comes whenever Ms. Nuwang calls…before relenting that he’d indeed come for a 3:30 appointment—and everything else could wait the fifteen-minutes it took for a daily briefing.

Crab-stepping out from behind his desk, Kai replies, “Sure! That sounds cool.”

“Awesome,” the girl replies as Kai falls into step with her. She guides them along the hall, heading back into the nucleus cubicles of the junior staffers before going left instead of right, heading away from the Glass Room. “I thought you might want to see it, since it’s your first day. It’s my favorite thing to do around here.”

“Yeah, it always looks cool on T.V.,” Kai replies, before shoving his hands into his pant pockets if only to keep from twiddling his thumbs. Knowing the answer, but fishing for conversation, Kai prods: “And, so, um, what is it you do around here? Are you another intern?”

“Oh, no,” the girl replies, eyes cutting away from him briefly. “I’m responsible for doing this and that.”

Kai’s eyebrows furrow. _She’s a junior staffer? But she doesn’t look any older than me,_ he thinks.

The girl hastily changes the conversational topic: “I’ll be interested to hear what you think of the Press Secretary. Don’t tell my dad, but I can of aspire to be her someday.”

“Why shouldn’t I tell your dad? Would he not be down for you to be a total badass?” Kai asks. Other than Suki Nuwang, his favorite politician currently in the game is Ty Lee Zandaka, the administration’s press secretary. During the President’s campaign, everyone dismissed her because of her short stature and bubbly attitude, but little did they know that behind that cute face and those bright smiles hid a rhetorical mastermind. Zandaka’s candor with the press and diplomacy of fellow politicians has cemented her status as legendary already.

“No, more like he wouldn’t be down for me going into politics,” the girl admits.

“Huh?” Kai croaks. “Then how does he feel about you working here? You’re kind of _surrounded_ by politics right now.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, I think he just thinks it’s a temporary thing to keep me busy, that I’ll get bored of it and do something else. But the problem is it’s the only thing I really know to do.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Don’t you have any hobbies?” Kai asks, his head spinning.

“Of course I do! I read, and I organize charity events, and I garden,” the girl protests before pinking. “ _And_ I am majorly oversharing, sorry. My sister tells me I have a problem with that, and I really didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. We literally just met.”

Kai shrugs, knowing his fierce desire to assure her she can confide whatever she wants in him would _also_ be an overshare. Instead he settles for a nonchalant: “No, you’re good. I did kind of ask.”

The girl nods, though the redness persists on her cheeks. They turn into a stairwell and follow the flights down, down, down to the ground floor of the Bamboo House. They’re on the ‘public level,’ as Suki referred to it as: where citizens toured, guests of state were entertained, and the newspaper-hound press were corralled. Following along a hallway, lined with oil-painting of past presidents and the beautiful wood flooring squeaking underfoot, the girl directs Kai into a room lined with chairs, a stage and podium at the front. Above, vaulted rafters held up a blue-painted ceiling while mosaics of the United Republic’s history—rendered in thick brush strokes—papered the wall. For the second time in a single day, Kai shuffles to a stop.

It’s the press junket, the scene for many of the more tense briefings he’s watched on television or reviewed clips of on the internet. Staring around, letting his eyes slowly wander and absorb every aspect, his focus eventually lands back on the girl. She’s wearing a fond smile. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Kai nods mutely. He’s not able to think of a better response until after they’ve taken seats in the backrow, allowing the journalists to file into the seats closer to the podium, and Kai’s had more time to stare. “It’s just so surreal to see it all in person.”

The girl nods. “I know; it’s been three and a half years, and sometimes I still need to pinch myself.”

Kai’s eyebrows shoot up. _Three and a half years? She’s been here since the beginning of President Aang’s term?_ He peeks at her from the corner of her eye as she fishes out her cellphone, silencing it. Busying himself with doing the same, Kai wonders, _Maybe she’s some staffer’s kid? Or a parent is an employee?_ It seems rude to ask. Instead, he circles back to the earlier topic: “So, wait, let’s backtrack if that’s okay. Are you telling me those are _all_ your hobbies? What about hanging out with friends?”

Her nose wrinkles as she looks at him, all amusement and star-smiles. “Do you count hanging out with people as a hobby?”

Kai shrugs. “Sure. I mean, maybe you’re hanging out and going hiking, or exercising, or axe-throwing together.”

The girl’s eyebrows climb. “Axe-throwing?” she repeats.

Knowing his cheeks are turning a steadily deeper shade of scarlet, Kai persists, “Yeah, it’s gotten pretty big around Republic City.” When she continues to look amused, he clicks his tongue and exclaims, “Come on, you totally know what I’m talking about! There’s an axe-throwing bar just off of the URC campus, and there’s at least two only four blocks from here.”

“Don’t tell the Sworn Service that; I doubt they’ll like the idea of axes being tossed around so close to the President,” the girl teases and _yes,_ she’s definitely flirting with him: the prettiest girl he’s ever met is _flirting with him._

Little sirens go off in Kai’s brain, but he refuses to acknowledge them, trying to retain his composure. With all the laissez-faire casualness he can summon, Kai says, “I promise to keep it a secret if you’ll go with me sometime?”

“What? Axe-throwing?” she returns, grin stretching wide and apparently _really_ enjoying teasing him. Kai has to admit: he’s kind of enjoying being teased.

He shrugs. “Why not?”

She turns her face away, as if to try to hide her smile and blush though Kai notices immediately. “Why not indeed,” she replies and luckily for them—and the journalists sitting within earshot who are miming vomiting at each other because, _seriously? The most pathetic flirting ever—_ Ty Lee Zandaka appears through a side door then. In her impossibly thin, impossibly tall heels, she’s strides onto the little stage and stops behind her podium.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Let’s get started, shall we?” she says into the microphone.

* * *

Kai’s interrupted in his work for the second time by his little desk phone ringing. Frankly, he’d assigned it was there as a hollow assurance he’s important enough for someone to want to call him. Yet, here it is, ringing, and Kai’s so surprised, he sits staring in dumbfounded paralysis for three rings before diving for it.

“Hello?” he answers, pressing the receiver to his ear.

“Kai?” a male voice asks on the other end.

“Speaking.”

“Hey, yeah, this is Mako, down at the front gate,” the voice—apparently Mako from the front gate—replies. “I have a Mr. Jet, uh, Jet—” his voice grows quieter, as if moving away from the phone; Kai can hear a faint ‘what’s your last name again?’ and the garbled, but clearly indignant, reply. Mako returns: “He says he’s with _The Republic City Times,_ here to speak with Ms. Nuwang?”

Kai barely swallows back an explicative, glancing at his watch: 3:26. Now he can’t keep in a whispered: “Shit.” Louder, he adds, “Yeah, Mako, let him in. He’s supposed to be here. I’ll come down and guide him up to Suki.”

“Alright,” Mako returns and the call clicks off. Kai barely lingers long enough to ensure he returned his phone to his cradle, springing from his chair and dashing out of the office. As he goes, he prays wildly that he doesn’t get hopelessly lost on his way down to collect one annoyed editor-in-chief of a major newspaper. He doubts Suki would be pleased with him, and also doubts he’d have his job for more than a day if he did.

. . .

When Kai chugs into Suki’s office—out of breath and slightly sweaty, with a deeply exasperated Mr. Jet at his heels—the clock above her head reads 3:32. Honestly, miracles do happen.

Suki glances up from her computer, a much newer and more powerful model than Kai’s hunk-of-shit, peering at them over her glasses. “Ah,” she says, as if neither man in front of her gasps for breath. “Good of you to make the journey across town, Jet.”

Straightening and adjusting his tie for good measure, he shoots back, “Did I really have much of a choice?”

Smiling sunnily, Suki replies, “Naturally, no.” Waving to one of the open seats in front of her desk, she adds, “Please take a seat. Can Kai get anything for you? Water? Coffee?”

“No, neither; I’m hoping this won’t take long,” Jet replies, slouching into the chair. Kai wavers by the door, fidgeting at how Jet’s talking to Suki so blithely and also unsure of what he should be doing.

Suki hums before her eyes flick up to Kai. “Kai, won’t you close the door and take notes for me?” He hastily does as told, Suki not waiting to see if he’s ready to scribe before she leads off: “I need you to confirm for me if the rumors about General Kuvira are true.” 

Kai nearly chokes on his breath: General Kuvira, first general to make status of field marshal in United Republic history due to her strategic brilliance during the Crescent Island Incident, had recently announced her bid to run against President Hava in the upcoming election cycle. With only six months until the election, she was a later arrival but had already gained favor from the United Republic countryside provinces.

Of course, no one in Republic City actually believed she could unseat the President. Except, apparently, Suki Nuwang, if she’s slumming it for rumors.

Jet chews at his lip before digging into his pocket. He produces a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “What rumors?”

Suki rolls her eyes as she opens a desk drawer. She fishes out a lighter—labeled with Sharpie as ‘Lighter for Jet’—and clicks the flame on. He leans forward to light it, grumbling his thanks. Pursing her lips, Suki returns, “Let’s not play each other for fools. I’m just asking you for confirmation of what I already know.”

“And what is it that you _think_ you know?” he asks around a stream of smoke.

Kai tries his best not to cough; seriously who _smokes tobacco_ these days?

Suki steeples her fingers on her desk. “How about I begin and then you can fill in the rest?” She must take Jet taking another drag as ascent. She continues: “Kuvira had an affair with Senator Suyin Beifong’s son while she, being the General, was still married. _Is_ still married.”

Now Kai can’t contain his coughing fit of surprise.

Both Suki and Jet ignore him.

Exhaling another puff of smoke, Jet replies, “What makes you think I peddle in dirty gossip, huh, Suki? I’m kind of hurt, to be honest; you must think real little of me.”

Suki clicks her tongue. “Oh please. I won’t buy any your dignity routine, not after your dragged Roku during his last term.” Jet chuckles but doesn’t respond beyond. Puffing out a sigh, Suki says, “Fine. If you confirm the rumors for me, I’ll give you an exclusive.”

Jet leans forward to flick his cigarette ashes into Suki’s coffee cup. She doesn’t react. “With who?” he drawls.

Suki doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “The Vice President on how he thinks the Supreme Court Justice voting will go next week.”

A snort. “And how are you going to get that stick-in-the-mud to play nice? You know better than I do that he hates talking to my people.”

“I’ll make it happen, if you make that rumor a confirmed reality,” Suki returns.

For a long dragging moment, Jet smokes at his cigarette. When it’s half-burned through, he finally pushes himself to his feet, replying, “I’ll have one of my reporters here on Thursday. Are you free on Friday?”

Suki raises an eyebrow. “You think you’ll have it by then?”

“Oh Suki, how you doubt me,” Jet returns, fluttering a hand to his chest before stubbing out his cigarette in the soil of a potted plant. He ignores Suki's glower. “I don’t _think_ it; I know it.”

Kai dodges to let Jet breeze past, the newspaperman waving him aside and assuring him he’ll find a Sworn Service agent to show him out of this rat maze. When he vanishes from sight, Kai peeks at Suki, finding her staring thoughtfully down at the wooden grain of her desk. It reminds him of how the President stared out into the garden.

A rattling breath, then: “I trust I don’t have to warn you not to tell anyone about that little exchange?”

“Of course not,” Kai scrambles to assure.

Suki nods. “Good. Because we might have discovered a sure-fire guarantee for the President’s reelection.” She pauses for another moment, running a finger along her bottom lip, her brain visibly churning. A sudden, choppy inhale, then, “Okay, go make yourself useful somewhere else.”

“Yeah, of course!” Kai practically bleats, scrambling to shuttle himself from the office. He nearly runs into the star-smile girl as he swings out of Suki’s door. She’s loitering by the water cooler, set down the hall and—Kai’s eyes narrow, darting—just by a vent that connects Suki’s office to the hallway. _Could she have been eavesdropping?_ Flashes ran through his mind, as a deep stain reddens her cheeks and she flounders for a greeting.

“Oh—hi, Kai! Wow, fancy seeing you here! What are you up to? How’ve you been since I saw you?” she squeaks out, practically diving for a paper cup and not watching she fills it. It threatens to spill over.

“Um, not much,” Kai replies, “Just trying to get some work done.”

“Great! That’s good; it’s good to be productive. What did you think of that press briefing?”

Kai knows he shouldn’t be so endured by how pink—and how cute—she’s gotten, especially when she might have been eavesdropping on a highly confidential conversation. Yet, he can’t help the coil of endearment rising in his chest. “You know, we did already talk about that.”

“We did?” she pipes.

“Yeah, on the way up from—”

“Kai, why are you chatting in—” Suki’s voice proceeds her from her office, before she peers out. “Oh, hello, Jinora. Haven’t seen you all day.”

The girl— _Jinora?_ Kai’s mind scrambles to computer, _as in the President’s oldest granddaughter, Jinora?—_ affectionally rolls her eyes. “Suki, I was there when you burst in on Grandpa and the Vice President talking. You had your usual blinders on.”

Suki laughs, shrugging. “You got me there, kiddo.”

 _But isn’t Jinora supposed to be an awkward, pimply eighteen-year-old?_ Kai thinks, staring at her as she and Suki banter back and forth (and honestly? Who knew Suki could do something as casual and fun as banter?). _But then,_ it occurs to him as he watches Jinora tilt her head to laugh, accentuating the fineness of her jaw, the delicateness of her nose, _but then, that_ was _three-and-a-half years ago._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai and Jinora sneak out of go to school, like the true nerds they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks and much love to @cinnamoncookies, for her continuing editorial skills, discerning eye, and positivity!!

The following two days, Tuesday and Wednesday, Kai can’t shake his embarrassment at not asking Jinora’s name (like a socially competent person) nor his utter mortification that he might be accused of ‘fraternizing’ with the President’s granddaughter. He’s sure there’s some clause in the intern contract he signed—but didn’t bother reading—about inter-office relationships, and surely that extends to Jinora, right? She’s not _technically_ an employee—rather the boss’ granddaughter and therefore kind of his boss, too?—but not even he can delude himself thinking asking her out for axe-throwing ( _seriously?_ he internally demands of himself as he sits at his desk, sorely tempted to beat his own head with the ancient landline phone, _I asked President Aang Hava’s granddaughter to_ axe-throwing?) could be misconstrued as anything innocuous.

HR would sniff it as precisely what it was: a twenty-one-year-old (whose hobbies include listening to C-SPAN, writing op-eds no one reads in the URC student newspaper, and cracking self-deprecating jokes to cover up for his sinking fear he has no real friends— _and wow, that’s dark)_ shooting his shot with the most beautiful girl to ever give him the time of day (who’s well-connected, highly-educated, fluent in seven languages, and organizes charities benefitting treatments for childhood cancer, if Kai’s internet digging is to be believed).

Essentially, he hasn’t got a hope.

And he can’t man up to his embarrassment to _not_ dive into a closet when he spots Jinora down the hallway. Or not pretend a pressing need to use the bathroom (like, seriously, he’s used the excuse six times and she’s going to start thinking he has an urinary issue). Or not about to face-turn in the hallway and go the opposite direction of her, ending up lost for hours somewhere near the Department of Homeland Security offices.

From the side-eye looks he got from some of their secretaries, Kai sensed he was being considered a major security breach to the homeland (or, at least a threat to the secretary watching the latest Fire Nation soap opera on his computer).

And _no,_ he’s not _avoiding_ Jinora. He’s simply practicing mindful office culture. He’s a proud feminist, after all—his grandmother would rise from the grave to kick his ass otherwise—and wants to ensure he’s contributing to an inclusive culture. So _no_ , he’s not avoiding her. To prove it to himself, in fact, he looks up the definition of ‘avoid.’ He has the time, he figures, glancing at his clock; he finished madly compiling research on an Earth Kingdom delegation visiting, creating a comprehensive list of who has dietary restrictions or weird habits like sleep-talking state secrets, and he has a few minutes before he needs to head back to the URC campus for his Wednesday night class. He could do a little light dictionary research on the computer.

**_Avoid:_ ** _to keep away from or stop oneself from doing or interacting (with something or someone._

_Ah,_ Kai thinks, leaning back in his chair. Maybe he _is_ avoiding her.

He drums his fingers against his keyboard, enjoying the clack-clack as if it might be a Morse code solution to his situation. Of course, it occurs to him, it only really matters if she _cares_ he’s been avoiding her. She probably hasn’t noticed the lowly intern, the minnow in a sea of tiger-sharks, has been hiding in his office for—

“You’re avoiding me,” she says, without any preamble, materializing in his office’s doorjamb.

Kai jolts, his knees slamming into the bottom of his desk and everything on top jumps a good few inches. The dredges of his (vile, ground-ridden) post-lunch coffee slosh onto his desk, dribbling onto his pad of sticky notes. Frantically dabbing at the spill with a used napkin, he hurriedly greets, “Oh, uh, hi! Jinora! Hey! Um, what brings you to my lowly corner of the office?”

Jinora looks as though she’s warring with her own smile; as if she’s trying very hard not to be charmed by his rumpled ‘business’ attire, his frantic clean-up job. Folding her arms over her chest, she reiterates, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Me?” Kai rounds his eyes in a show of innocent. It’s remarkably unconvincing. “Never.”

“Is that why you hid in the copy room when you saw me earlier?” Jinora drawls.

Kai coughs, trying to cover a bloom of heated embarrassment blooming across his face. “Oh, uh, you saw that.” He finishes rescuing his sticky notes (or as much as they could be saved), tossing the napkin in the wastebasket before beginning to gather his things, turning off his computer. “I was just grabbing some paper for Suki’s printer. It was out and she asked me to get more.”

“And it took you fifteen minutes to do?” Jinora prods.

Kai nods gravely. “It was a very serious operation, we nearly lost the printer. But don’t worry, it looks like it’s going to make a full recovery. Hopes are high.”

Now, Jinora fights away her grin, covering her mouth with her hand. Kai can’t keep from smiling at how her gray eyes dance with stars and a barest hint of pink tinges her cheeks. Feeling his own blush threatening to make him the Fire Nation’s poster boy—that is to say, he’s turning very red—he busies himself with slotting his empty thermos into his messenger bag along with all the non-sensitive documents he’s allowed to take home to work on.

Not to imply anyone trusts Kai with actually sensitive documents.

When Jinora regains control of her smile, she persists, “Is this because you realized who I am? That my father is Senator Tenzin, and my grandparents are the President and Senator Katara?”

Quite honestly, it hadn’t occurred to him Jinora’s father is a person who could ruin Kai’s future in politics (and _fucking spirits,_ he hadn’t thought about _any_ of Jinora’s family baying for his blood, completely wrecking his life, but now he is and maybe he’d been right to avoid her?). Still, with the memory of her smile fresh in his mind (a strong reason to _not_ avoid her), Kai opts for the truth, “Umm, yeah, actually. It was. I’m sorry.”

Jinora sighs, a small and resigned sound. As if she’s annoyed with herself because she should expect as much now; as though she still allows her feelings to get hurt even though experience and constantly being treated differently should have taught her otherwise.

Kai feels his heart fissure for this sad (and beautiful, _and okay, horny-brain, calm down for a second)_ girl, and he tacks on, “And I think I was also embarrassed that _I_ didn’t realize who you are. I mean, I’m an intern in the Bamboo House and you’re the President’s granddaughter. I should have known what you look like, um, currently.” He’d been so close to making that not-creepy, but he just _had_ to stumble and add unintended implication, didn’t he? Kai really loves to self-sabotage himself, huh? If it was a sport, he’d be the world champion.

Yet, the sadness eases from Jinora’s marginally, replaced by surprised. “You… _you_ were embarrassed?” she repeats.

“Uh,” Kai croaks, super eloquently. “Yeah, um, and I’m sorry about it. I should treat you like a normal human being, and stop being such a psycho.”

“Honestly, you didn’t react as crazily as a lot of people do,” Jinora replies, dryly but her disappointment completely dissipated and at least Kai can congratulate himself for not being mean to her, inadvertently or not.

Kai blinks. “Really? How do people usually react?”

A nonchalant shrug. “Either they pump me for information about my dad, Pop-pop, or Gran-gran, _or_ they start being creepily nice.”

“Oh man, I hate when people are nice to me,” Kai teases because obviously he has to get that self-sabotaging practice in. _Obviously_.

Jinora snorts, mouth crooking with a grin. “Oh me, too. Nice people? The worst.”

Kai laughs, standing and shouldering his messenger bag. “Well, if you’ll forgive me for being weird, I’d totally be not-nice to you and be your normal friend.” Kai winces, wishing he had thought that sentence through; while the friend-zone is a construct made up by men trying to exploit women (yes, he aced his Gender Politics class, _thank you very much_ ), he doesn’t want Jinora to think he’s putting her there.

Yet, Jinora’s face only shines like a lightbulb, her smile widening. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’d really like that.” A pause as they do an awkward dance of ‘sorry-excuse me-my bad,’ Kai navigating past her to sidle out the door. She falls into step with him. “Where are you headed? Meeting with Suki?”

“Nah, I have to head back to campus. I have my Wednesday lecture in about an hour,” Kai replies.

“Oh cool! I’ve never been to a real college class; it sounds so fascinating.”

Kai’s eyebrows march together, glancing at her. She wears a dreamy, wistful look, fantasizing about being barked at by Professor Azula Sozin like how most people fantasize about a really delicious bowl of ramen or a new Satomobile. “Wait? Seriously? You’ve never been to a college class? But what about that fancy University of Ba Sing Se degree you have?”

Ignoring the fact that Kai _clearly_ cyberstalked her enough to know about her education, Jinora shrugs. “It was all online. I was doing most of my degree while Pop-pop—” _still weird to hear the President referred to as ‘Pop-pop’,_ Kai thinks— “was on the campaign trail, and then my dad had the mid-term elections so I couldn’t go in-person. I really wanted to, though.”

“Huh,” Kai says. “I can’t imagine not living in a dorm and everything during freshman year. You never—?”

“Nope, though I did go to an all-girls camp every summer when I was growing up, to ‘reconnect with my Air Nation heritage,’” she says, using air-quotes and Kai wonders who’s she citing. “So I can kind of imagine, but never a real dorm.”

“Well,” Kai begins, pausing in case his reason will get the better of him and keep him from suggesting it. Of course, no one’s ever accused him of impulse-control. “Well, why don’t you tag along with me to class? We’re always getting randos sitting in—Professor Sozin is kind of famous around campus, her lectures are pretty great. No one would notice, and you could at least get a real class experience. I can’t help with the dorm-thing though.”

Jinora’s grinning at him, her eyes pushed into happy crescents and her gray eyes dancing. When she smiles like that, her nose crinkles and _damn_ if it’s not cute. _Damn_ if Kai doesn’t want to lean down and—

“Really? Can I really come? Are you sure? It wouldn’t be an imposition on you or anything?” Jinora asks, all breathless, grabbing for his hand as if needing reassurance that Kai and his offer are real.

And with Jinora’s fingers gently pressing into his, Kai’s helpless. He’s dug his grave, now he has to lie in it. “Yeah, of course!”

* * *

Kai assumed leaving the Bamboo House with Jinora would be limited to bribing the Sword Service member at the gate, Mako, into giving them a five-minute head start before an agent starts tailing them. He assumed wrong. Apparently, Jinora had to change into her designated ‘casual disguise.’ Kai could see that she had a point: she’d look out of place in the lecture hall with her perfectly tailored suit and expensive patent-leather pumps. Thus, he was now left waffling around in the residency’s hallway for the longest six minutes of his life.

The residency—the private living quarters for the President and his family—takes up the majority of the second floor of the Bamboo House and is strictly off limits to anyone outside of the family or their personal staff. Kai shouldn’t be here. Anyone wandering by would _know_ he’s not supposed to be there (and if they didn’t, one look at his guilty expression would tip them off).

He occupies himself with wavering between trying to become one with a topiary and half-hiding behind a decorative column, not able to decide which one is more inconspicuous. He’s just beginning to suspect they’re equally inconspicuous when Korra, the Sworn Service agent, crests the staircase. They lock eyes immediately. Expression mild as she approaches, she asks, “Hey Kai, what are you up to?”

“Uh,” Kai croaks for the second time in a half-hour. He does the only thing he can: he lies. “Not much. Just trying to figure out if these hallway decorations are aesthetically pleasing enough for the Earth Kingdom delegation. Suki wanted me to take a look.”

“Uh-huh,” Korra replies, arching a brow but smile inching a tick wider. “So, she wanted you to look in the residency, where the delegation won’t be going anywhere near because they’re staying in the East Wing?”

“Yep,” Kai chirps, refusing to lose face. “Exactly.”

Mercifully, Jinora’s door swings in then and she steps out. “Hey Korra!” she greets, while Kai’s brain temporary disconnects: she’s wearing a flowy, floral-pattern blouse and jeans that hug he legs tight. Earrings dangle from her earlobes and her hair has been allowed to frame her face in loose waves. The effect is, well, _damn._

Korra, too, eyes her clothes and her brows climb further. “Going somewhere?”

Jinora’s smile takes on a conspiring edge. “Oh, here and there. Kai’s letting me tag along to his college lecture.

Korra tips her head back and tackles up to the ceiling. “Seriously? You’re _sneaking out_ to go to _school?”_ When Jinora just shrugs, Korra hoots louder. Around chuckles, she shoos a hand at them. “Just go, I’ll send Mako to shadow you two, or something. Get out of here, you nerds.”

Jinora, grinning at Kai as if they’ve pulled off some elaborate ruse (though, Korra does have a point: sneaking out for school is kind of weak sauce), grabs his hand and tugs him along. She hurries, probably scared Korra will change her mind—or someone will catch them.

* * *

After speed-walking away from the Bamboo House for two blocks, it becomes obvious no one is going to waylay them and Jinora allows their pace to slow. “So,” Kai draws out, fishing for a conversation-starter. “Is sneaking out a regular thing? I mean, obviously not sneaking out to axe-throwing bars or college lectures, but in general?”

Jinora shrugs. “Yes and no. I’ve always been pretty closely monitored because my family has always been in the public eye, but it’s gotten more… _more_ since Pop-pop was sworn in.”

Kai nods as if he could comprehend such a life of constant surveillance. “Doesn’t that get…grating?” They walk along one of Republic City’s main boulevards, high-end retail shop windows winking down at them, as two dots in a teaming mass of pedestrians going every direction. In the street, Satomobiles trade honks as they swerve in and out of lanes, the streetcars hum on electric tracks, and above the red and tan buildings seemingly stretch upward for miles. This late in the day, the streets are filled with the looming shadows, chilling the city as a precursor for nightfall. Yet, despite the impending darkness, the streets thrum with life: shoppers lugging legions of bags, frazzled businessmen shouting into cellphones, wealthy ladies walking their tiny ferret-dogs, children migrating home from school.

The sidewalks are practically overrun, and Kai’s nearly shoved into a cabbage vendor by an errand elbow. “Watch out!” he warns. Quick reflexes allow him to grab Jinora’s hand, veering her away from crashing into the stall and directly into his chest. Her nose bumps his clavicle.

“Oh thanks,” Jinora gasps, blinking in shock at nearly having a face-full of leafy greens but instead having a face-full of Kai’s shirt. Kai’s pulse quickens, his blood seeming to zing into his ears and roaring an alarm that _Warning: Jinora is standing very, very close!_ (as if he could have somehow missed it).

They stand there, blinking, for a full ten seconds before Kai clears his throat and dropping her hand, self-conscious about touching her. Yet, he’s unable to resist hitting her with a smile. “Sorry for grabbing you like that.”

“Better than death by cabbage,” Jinora jokes back, not noticing how the cabbage vendor behind them glares. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course. But I just want to be clear that that was a totally normal friend move and not a creepily nice move,” Kai replies, his smile turning smirky and teasey (in Kai’s dictionary, those are totally words, don’t fight him).

Jinora tilts her head, grin growing lopsided and equally as smirky. “Oh, thank you for the clarification. I would have been so confused otherwise,” she drawls.

Kai shrugs. “Yeah, you’re welcome. Just trying to look out for you.” A pause as they set off along the sidewalk again, rejoining the general shuffle of pedestrians, leaving behind their little pocket of solitude. A pocket where the world seemed to fall away in favor of Jinora’s nose on Kai’s clavicle bone. He prompts, “You were about to tell me if the super overprotectiveness of your family is grating?”

“Oh right, well. Um. Yeah, it does get on my nerves. Often. Especially since it seems like they’re a lot more protective of me than any of my siblings. I think it’s because I’m the oldest and I have to trailblaze, or whatever. But, I know they do it out of love. And it’s not fair to him, but whenever my father is lecturing me about ‘the safety and the dangers of being in the public eye,’ it’s a lot harder to stomach than when Pop-pop or Gran-gran talk about it. Like I get _extra_ annoyed just because it’s Dad.”

“Are you closer to them? The President and First Lady, I mean?” Kai asks, coming to a stop at a crosswalk. He wonders if Jinora notices how their shoulders brush like he does.

A smile touches her lips. “Yeah, definitely. They’re both my heroes. Gran-gran’s done so much for social reforms, for affordable healthcare for women, and Pop-pop…I really aspire to be like him someday. Not the president, but just _him._ I mean, you saw him the other day.” She pauses, the light changing and the signal indicating it’s their turn to cross. They hurry forward, following the surge of the crowd. “He always considers every side before he speaks or acts. He always tries to find compromises and establish peace, but at the same time he’s not afraid to go after reforms that he really believes in.”

“Yeah, I’ve really admired that about him, too,” Kai admits. Jinora looks at him with interest, so he continues, “Well, I’m kind of a politics-watcher. I have been since I was little because of my grandmother. She told me it’s important to have an opinion so that you can help bring about positive change for the world. Anyway, I remember following your grandpa’s career, and then your dad’s, and they both were really impressive with how they handled dissenting opinions in Congress or won some major trials in the courtroom.” Though Senator Tenzin began his career as a Representative and now serves in the Senate, Aang Hava began as a lawyer. Only after he married Senator Katara Imiq and she persuaded him did he start a political career.

“I know! I read about one of Pop-pop’s cases in a history class for university, and it’s inspiring, right? I want to go to law school and help defend the innocent and provide a voice for the voiceless, just like he did,” Jinora says.

Kai can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, a warmth growing in his chest from seeing her excitement. “I think you’d be really awesome at lawyer-ing.” He hopes she can hear the genuineness in his voice.

Her smile softens, turning more intimate, as her eyes meet his. “Thanks, Kai, that means a lot to me for you to say.”

Kai nods, mumbling, “Of course,” and hurriedly looks away. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, not when Jinora’s looking at him like that. His eyes land on a sign up ahead along the street. It’s a stylized baby badgermole nursing from coffee-cup like it’s a bottle. Underneath, reads ‘ _The Caffeinated Badgermole.’_

“Oh! The _CB!_ Have you ever been?” he exclaims. When Jinora shakes her head, he explains, “It’s my favorite coffee shop and a favorite hangout for URC students. If you really want the full experience, we should stop in.”

“But won’t we be late?” Jinora asks, but Kai’s already shepherding in through the door.

“Come on, I insist!” Kai says, “I’ll get you anything you want, but I highly recommend the dirty chai latte. And don’t worry, it’s not ‘dirty’ because it’s naughty or R-rated or anything. It’s because it’s got caffeine,” he explains, though he can’t resist adding an insinuating eyebrow wiggle.

He’s rewarded with Jinora’s cheeks flushing a deep red.

* * *

Students cram into the lecture hall, occupying nearly every seat. Word must have gotten around campus that the day’s lecture will be particularly good: random faces Kai’s never seen dot the rows of elevated seats and it’s a mad scramble to grab few remaining seats. Kai dashes up to the top of the tiered levels of desks, practically body-checking two dudes as they dive for two open spots. He hisses at them, “Back off, I’m actually paying to be in this class.”

It earns him twin glares but the two relent, retreating while muttering resentfully. Turning to Jinora, Kai apologizes, “Sorry, I promise I’m not usually territorial over seats.”

Jinora, he finds, isn’t listening. She’d drifted up to steps after him—disposable coffee cup in hand—but her eyes flicker to the other girls in the class, eyebrows tugging together. Frowning at her as she distractedly slides into the seat he fought to win her (Kai has a dramatic streak, what can he say?), Kai croaks, “Uh, Jinora? Hello?”

It takes waving a hand in front of her face for her to snap out of it, her eyes darting to and locking on him. A blush tinges her cheeks. “Oh, sorry.”

"What’s the matter?” he asks. “Why were you staring at those girls like they grew two heads?” He gestures to the three girls, hunched together and laughing, a row in front of them and off to the right. They’re in Kai’s major—he’s had classes with most of them—and they’re nice enough. He wonders if Jinora somehow knows them, though surely one of them would have flexed meeting Jinora Hava at some point during their four years of university, right?

“Uh,” she manages, visibly floundering. She busies herself with fishing out her phone from her purse to silence it, applying chapstick, sipping at her chai latte, and even fiddling with the cardboard sleeve. When she’s positively out of evasion tactics, she admits, “Just kind of surprised to see a group of girl friends. I never…uh…had that.”

Kai blinks once. Twice. His brain catches up, and he stutters out, “Oh, huh, wow, I’m sorry; I didn’t…I mean, hmm. That must have been hard.”

Jinora does a one-shoulder shrug, as if she’s trying to shrug off the admission entirely. Kai’s not sure what to do with that, so he frowns down at his latte instead. Jinora seems prone to dropping these depressing factoids about her life—her father trying to control her political aspirations, her family controlling her in general, and now not having a group of friends—only to then blithely breeze past it as though it’s a locked-in reality. As if she’s so used to retreading these issues, but never coming to any new solution, she’s simply accepted them as defining traits of her life. Kai knows she has a little sister close to her in age, and wonders if she’s Jinora’s only confidante.

He wonders how often the two sisters, the two granddaughters of President Aang, complain together but have to swallow the bitter pill that they’re pawns in their own lives.

Kai wishes he could cheer her up, wishes he knew what to say. But, before he can, Professor Sozin’s graduate assistant, Chan (according to campus lore, he used to be super outgoing before the notorious energy vampire Sozin, hired him), scuttles into the hall. He hurriedly begins laying out Professor Sozin’s lecture notes on the podium before going to the computer and kicking on the projector. The lecture hall quiets, every student tensing and watching Chan work in a mesmerized silence, anticipating this second— _maybe now—maybe now_ will be the instance Professor strides into the—

She appears from the hallway, the staccato clap of her heels barely giving a warning and seems to bring a wave of cold air at her back. Kai’s noticed it trails her wherever she goes, as though she’s an Airbender (though she’s a confirmed Firebender), sending chills down student’s spines and raising goosebumps on the back of colleague’s necks.

Though it’s unnecessary, Kai leans to Jinora and whispers, “That’s Professor Sozin.”

Jinora spares him a quick glance, daring to whisper back, “The Vice President’s sister? The political consultant?”

Kai nods, barely getting in: “The very same.”

Professor Sozin pauses only long enough to receive a thumbs-up from Chan, posted at the computer and ready to change her slides, before she pivots sharply to the class and begins: “Our current sitting president, President Aang Hava, served as a lawyer and senator before running for election four years ago.” Behind Professor Sozin, a super-imposed picture of Jinora’s grandfather appears and Kai hears air catch in her throat. He sneaks a glance at her, a little proud smile daring to tug onto her face. Grinning himself, he bumps their shoulders together and she benefits him with briefly alighting her smile on him.

That smile could warm him for a year in the South Pole.

On needle-thin heels, Professor Sozin paces out from behind her podium, continuing, “In the few years since he’s taken command of the highest executive office in the United Republic, he’s championed tax reforms, social project, infrastructure, and affordable health care acts, which is all something we can agree on are good things, correct?”

She raises an eyebrow, her hooded eyes sweeping around the lecture hall, startling mumbles of assent from the students. For the briefest of moments, Kai would have sworn her eyes snagged on Jinora, that something like a smile (if Professor Sozin is capable of such a thing) touches her mouth, before her attention sweeps away. In the next moment, though, Kai isn’t so sure it wasn’t his imagination.

A nod from Professor Sozin changes the projected image behind her. It’s an aerial shot of Crescent Island. She waves a hand up at it. “I hope everyone’s geography is good enough that we recognize Crescent Island, a part of the Fire Nation archipelago. Does anyone care to guess at the significance of this island?”

A boy in the second row raises his hand and, to Kai’s surprise, so does Jinora.

“Oh no, you don’t want to raise your hand, it’ll turn into an interrogation,” Kai tries to warn, but it’s too late.

“You! Up in the back row,” rings out over the class, Professor Sozin brandishing a red manicured finger like a sword signaling a charge. Kai cringes as half of the students shift around in their seats to eye the poor soul foolish enough to raise their hand. Kai really, _really_ hopes everyone else in the lecture hall hasn’t seen a current picture of Jinora.

Lowering her hand, Jinora answers, her voice steady as though she’s been trained to command a room (probably because she has), “Crescent Island is the ancestral home of the Fire Nation Avatars. Every Fire Nation-born Avatar since long before history was written down has trained on the island under the tutelage of the Fire Sagas. More recently, is was the scene of the Incident two years ago.”

“Oh? And what incident would that be?” Professor Sozin prods mildly, _too_ mildly. Kai fidgets in his chair, wondering where Professor Sozin is trying to wrangle them. Whenever her voice takes on that demure, innocuous tone of questioning, she’s laying a trap. Unfortunately, sometimes it doesn’t lead to embarrassment, only a teachable moment. Other times, she’s intentionally attempting to humiliate the student. Kai can’t tell which this particular moment is.

 _Should I jump in?_ he speculates wildly, _Would Jinora be annoyed if I did? I’d ruin her first lecture experience—but what if Professor Sozin beats me to the punch?_

Before Kai’s moose-rabbit brain can quit hopping around and settle on a decision, Jinora replies, “As I’ve said before, Crescent Island is a sacred place for the Avatar, and therefore is a site recognized by the World Heritage Organization at the University of Ba Sing Se. There are certain privileges granted to World Heritage sites and also certain responsibilities that all nations agreed to upholding when the Organization was founded. However, the Fire Nation broke these agreements when they began to build a naval base on the island, and therefore desecrating the site, not to mention breaking demilitarization clauses signed after the Hundred Years War. The World Heritage Organization denounced the action, calling for the other Nations to strongly oppose the Fire Nation, and the United Republic replied to the call. The situation, unfortunately, escalated, and President Hava had to make a show of military force with General Kuvira.”

Professor Sozin listens keenly and, though Kai studies her, her expression remains a perfect mask. When Jinora leans back in her chair, concluding her explanation and most of the students turn away, Kai allows himself a minute exhale. Perhaps all Professor Sozin fished for was a competent student who could teach their peers—

“And if you believe the biased newspapers kissing the President’s feet, I suppose that would be your interpretation of events,” Professor Sozin assented, words dripping with sarcasm. Jinora stiffens at Kai sides while he bites back the urge to bury his face in his arms. Instead, he reaches for Jinora’s hands, grabbing them as if to help her brace for impact. “However, if you’d care to inform yourself and read widely, you’d find that the Fire Nation was perfectly within their jurisdiction to build a naval base, demilitarization clauses or not. The base was on the complete other side of the island, posed no threat to a temple in honor of an antiquated cult of personality, and was built on the understanding another base would cease operations, thus satisfying the rule they could not expand, only replace. You’d also find that the United Republic had been exploiting the waterways around Crescent Island to avoid Fire Nation trade tariffs, and the new naval base would threaten this flagrant misuse of waterways and also provide a competitor for naval supremacy in the Setting Sun Sea. Therefore, the ‘show of force’ by General Kuvira was nothing more than a playground bully threatening a frequent victim to shut up or cough up their lunch money.”

“That’s—that’s not true—!” Jinora gasps, her fingers shaking progressively harder under Kai’s hand. He squeezes, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In a mumble, as though unaware she spoke, she adds, “Pop-pop would never.”

A smirk, all hard teeth and curling edges, now threatens to encompass Professor Sozin’s face. “However, the fact that we have one young woman in our class here today so besotted by the public image of President Hava is an interesting point. In fact, it perfectly illustrates his political genius: his ability to use smoke and mirrors to distract the public from his more militant policies and maneuverings by showing us images of a grandfatherly man, someone who respects tradition and is an advocate for balance.”

Kai might have noticed how Professor Sozin’s eyes dart to them on her word choice—‘grandfatherly’—but he’s too occupied with Jinora gripping his hand back, fingers shaking like leaves in a brisk autumn breeze, and her breath coming ragged from her mouth. Color gathers high in her cheeks and Kai, though he only met her Monday, easily identifies the emotion in her eyes: rage.

* * *

Kai silently marvels at her self-control: Jinora marches stiffly along, Kai trailing in chagrinned muteness, for a full three blocks until they’re entirely and safely off campus before erupting. “I cannot believe that Professor Sozin would say those lies about my grandfather! How can she call herself an academic? How can she be allowed to teach at this school?” She sweeps her arms wide to indicate the buildings around them, though they had left the academic buildings far behind. “I thought this was supposed to be one of the top universities in the _world,_ and they have liars like her—?” She jabs a finger in the vague direction of where Professor Sozin might be.

Kai nibbles his lip, unsure if he should attempt to placate her or if letting her rage would be best.

She steams on: “And she’s hired as a political consultant! For my grandpa! And grandma! And dad! _And_ her own brother, the Vice President, who she essentially slandered!” Around them, other pedestrians give Jinora and Kai a wide berth, tossing them curious glances, but both ignore them. Jinora’s fists are balled tight and she’s stomping along the sidewalk at a firm plod, Kai scuttling at her side. She seems determined to thrash the cement underfoot. “I mean, her facts are just so ludicrously wrong—” suddenly, she swings her face to Kai and he has to stuff back a yelp— “Right?”

“Uh,” Kai manages to croak. He clears his throat and tries again: “Uh, well, uh…” _Not much better,_ he thinks, wincing.

Jinora’s mouth twists into a frown. “Wait, what do you mean? You don’t agree with her do you? Everything she said was just repeating what critics have said, and it’s all been proven wrong.”

Kai shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from twiddling his thumbs. He can’t quite meet her eyes as he drags out, “ _Well,_ here’s the thing…” In his pockets, his fingertips brush his phone and inspiration seizes him. He fishes it out, going to the _The Republic City Times_ app on his home screen. In a few moments, he pulls up an article titled ‘The Crescent Island Incident: Fact Checking & Everything You Need to Know.’ For all that Editor-in-Chief Jet Ziyou apparently makes backroom deals with the Bamboo House’s Director of Communications, he still ran the most reputable, unbiased newspaper in the world. She could argue with Professor Sozin, but not an article with thirty-sources and twelve firsthand witnesses cited.

Handing over the phone to Jinora, Kai croaks, “Here.”

Jinora’s eyes dart over the screen, and Kai washes her anger melt from her, her shoulders dropping, and grayness seem to seep into her skin. When she’s done, she wordlessly hands the phone back to him and begins to walk again. This time, it’s fair less aggressive, as though her every modicum of energy has been sapped from her. Kai keeps pace, stealing glances at her as his mind scrambles for something—anything—to say that isn’t ‘sorry your entire perception of your grandfather was just blown to smithereens.’

Kai frowns, answering his own thought: “But it wasn’t.” When Jinora doesn’t immediately reply, he clarifies, “President Aang’s reputation wasn’t completely smeared, you know. I mean, Professor Sozin said it herself at the beginning of the lesson: he’s done a lot of awesome things. And the Fire Island Incident doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person either. I mean, to the Fire Nation, he might be, but he’s also the leader of the United Republic and he did what’s in the best interest of our Navy and our trade.”

Jinora worries at her lip. “But the Professor’s delivery was so…” She trails off shaking her head. Holding her arms tight around her middle, as if catching a sudden chill, she says, “I’m just…was I wrong? I mean, obviously, I was, but how could I be _so_ wrong? I read almost all of the reports that come through the senior staff offices, I hear everything that’s happening in the Glass Room, so how did I get it so wrong? Did I miss something?”

Kai doesn’t reply for a long moment, but when he does, his words come carefully, “Are you sure what you read and heard wasn’t already put through a filter? I mean, you’re in spaces that are very pro-President, so you probably wouldn’t be exposed to any of the more unsavory bits.” Though her reaction seems mild—Kai’s used to the knives and teeth style of debate in his PoliSci classes—he’s wary of setting her off. Yet, he knows this is a discredit to Jinora: she’s far too rational and logical to lose her temper.

Jinora scrubs her hands over her arms. They come to a stop at an intersection, and she replies after they’ve crossed to the other side. “I suppose, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that I never went out of my way to read any news sources. To hear about what was happening behind the carefully worded memos I got off desks or what was said behind the closed doors I couldn’t open.” Her scrubbing slows. “I feel like…like I don’t even know my own grandfather.”

Kai swallows back a laugh of shock—nothing is funny about the hurt folding Jinora’s expression, how she holds herself to make her appear small—partially wishing he’d never shown her the article, had never confirmed Professor Sozin’s analysis, nor implied he knew about all the above (of course, it didn’t bother him enough to keep him from applying for the internship at the Bamboo House). But would it have been a greater disservice to hide it from her? To let her rage, all the while laboring in ignorance and half-truths? He can’t quite tell.

“Don’t…don’t say that, Jinora,” Kai gets out because he knows he needs to say something, _wants_ to say something, to the beautiful girl who’s dangerously close to becoming his friend. “He’s still your grandfather, he’s still a great man. You can admire flawed people, and I think that makes them that much _more_ admirable for their flaws.”

Jinora snorts softly. “But what about someone who’s a hypocrite? I mean, Pop-pop is always going on about peace and balance when it comes to his foreign trade policies, but then he turns around and treats the Fire Nation like that? I just…” She cuts herself off, as if biting and snapping at the words. “It just feels like I’ve been blinded by my bias to my family. I mean, Suki’s paying off someone to dig up dirt on General Kuvira!”

 _Ah, so she did hear that,_ Kai thinks; he’d been wondering, but had been too busy avoiding Jinora to get the chance to somehow phrase ‘hey, did you eavesdrop on that conversation?’ in a non-accusatory way.

Realizing that now isn’t the time to get into this, Kai protests, “We don’t know the President asked her to start digging or to confirm the story—”

“But we don’t know if he _didn’t_ ask,” Jinora insists, seemingly determined to think the worst. Kai opens his mouth to croak a response, but Jinora shakes her head, proclaiming, “Just let me be mad for a little bit, okay, Kai? I’ve just found out that pretty much my entire family has lied to me and made me feel like an idiot.”

And though Kai’s not sure that’s fair, he also isn’t quite sure how to argue the point. So, he does as asked, silently walking at Jinora’s side and seeing her safely back to the Bamboo House.

* * *

Kai sees Jinora to her room, quietly wishing her a goodnight, before ambling from the Residency and down the stairs to the senior staff offices. Hands in his pockets, he lets his heels scuff along the tiled floor, his eyebrows knitting together.

Had he been wrong to take Jinora to the lecture? Had he handled her emotional revelation with finesse? He could answer both questions quite firmly (yes to the first, no to the second), and his heart weighs heavy in his chest, guilt gnawing away at it. His feet itch to turn around and carry him back to Jinora’s door, to knock and plead with her to come out and talk things over. The responsibility to weather her upheaval feels like it ought to be his, and yet he wonders if he knows her well enough. And yet, fear coils in his stomach that a lowly intern like himself accidentally triggered the disillusionment of the President’s granddaughter.

If he was a mite more selfish, Kai might’ve lingered a long while on the implications it had on his job.

Yet, instead, Kai winces as his imagination conjures the sounds of her crying (though Jinora doesn’t much seem the crying type) as he acknowledges that it’s largely his fault.

His wonderings bring him to the door of Suki Nuwang, propped open and the Director herself behind her desk despite the lateness of the hour. With the last dredges of light seeping from the world outside, the desk lamp provides most of the office’s light, and it casts long, stretched, and weary shadows over the furniture and over Suki’s face. Seeing Kai, she sets aside her pen and waves him in. “Please tell me you had a better day than me,” she says.

He huffs a laugh. “I would be lying if I did.”

A grin crooks Suki’s face. “I appreciate a bit of company in misery.” Leaning back in her chair, she begins to root around in a drawer only to pause. “Are you legal yet?”

Now, Kai actually laughs. “I may have a baby-face, but I’m not _actually_ a baby.”

Suki snorts as she produces two squat glasses from her lower desk drawer along with a thin bottle of sake. She pours a shallow pool into each glass and passes Kai one. They cheer each other, Suki throwing back the liquor as Kai sipped at his. He needs to navigate the trams to get home, after all. Not everyone could have private drivers like Suki.

“What’s the matter?” Kai asks.

“It might be easier to say what’s _not_ the matter,” Suki replies. “But today’s it’s the Supreme Court seat. Amon and his cronies in Congress are wanting the President to at least back off with publicly opposing the defense of marriage act, and they won’t compromise.” Kai pulls a face and Suki nods. “Yeah, I know.”

In the United Republic, each providence is allowed the autonomy to decide if same-sex marriages were legal. Yet, with the recent Congressional elections voting in the Equalists, there began a push to pass a federal law completely outlawing it. President Hava, having been elected with a campaign promise of passing an act federally protecting same-sex marriages, obviously balked at the proposition put forward by Amon.

Kai sips at his sake for a long moment, watching as Suki reclaims her pen and dashes down a few more lines. Silence, and then he asks: “Why does it have to be a compromise?”

Her pen stills. Her eyes flick up. “What else do you have in mind?”

Speaking slowly, trying to regulate the sudden shakiness in his voice, his adrenaline rapidly roaring up to thrum in his ears, Kai explains, “What if the President nominated someone who’s completely extreme? Someone who the Equalists would hate? The President acts like he’s seriously considering this candidate, consequences and compromises be damned—”

“And when we propose a more moderate candidate after all the complaining, the Equalists see it as a win, when really it’s all to our favor all along,” Suki fills in, a light sparking in her eyes. Sitting up entirely, she grins. “Kai, you’re a mad genius.”

Though Kai returns her toothy smile, a blanket of warmth settling over him at knowing he earned Suki’s approval, he can’t quite ignore the stab and twist in his stomach. Jinora had been so upset over her grandfather’s duplicitous politics, and yet here he is, hatching a scheme of his very own, meant to dupe and distract. Would she view his politicking as yet another person not to be trusted?

 _But why does her opinion even matter, we’re not even friends,_ Kai tries to convince himself. But then, he’s not very good at lying, even to himself.


End file.
